Blood Brothers
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: The hardness of this world slowly grinds your dreams away, makin' a fool's joke out of the promises we make. McKay/Sheppard friendship.


**Disclaimer**: Still not mine... but Mallozzi can't hide forever! 

**Spoilers:** Miller's Crossing, The Last Man 

**A/N**: There's a curse word and some brief, potentially graphic imagery. If that bothers you, you might want to turn back. If not, read on!

This is a bit of an experimental piece. Let me know how you think it turned out. Thanks.

* * *

**Blood Brothers**

* * *

_We played King of the Mountain out on the end_  
_The world come chargin' up the hill, and we were women and men_  
_Now there's so much that time, time and memory fade away_  
_We got our own roads to ride, and chances we gotta take_  
_We stood side by side, each one fightin' for the other_  
_and we said until we died, we'd always be blood brothers_

There was a white crust on his palms, a confection of sweat and blood formed underneath a film of grime. His face was bloodied too, droplets winding down in long red streams resembling tear tracks, and though it was clear he should be concerned, the ringing in his ears numbed any lingering sense of trepidation.

The battle raged on not far from him, Wraith cruisers making low runs over the surface, laying down fire for their ground forces, who were steadily overwhelming the Lanteans and the locals.

He'd lost his P-90 a ways back in an explosion. The Wraith might have slain him or fed on him if not for the teenaged villager whose name escaped him, who impaled the alien from behind.

It was a terrible thing to kill. It did get easier, though, in the same way it got easier to accept your own death. He thought about how this galaxy had changed him. As he lay there at oblivion's precipice, all he could think about was the evacuees and his friends. Did that make him a good person?

Out of the smoke ahead emerged a battered Wraith, who though unarmed and injured appeared the embodiment of grim Death. It was funny the way God or time or random chance would set you up for the fall. He could think of dozens of moments when he almost died, and they'd all have been grander than this.

He clumsily drew his sidearm from its holster. It felt heavier than he remembered, and it was a struggle just to lift it in the air, but he managed. And as the hungry beast stalked toward him, he squeezed the trigger. The first bullet didn't faze it. He kept on firing, unloading the entire clip, but though the Wraith was rocked back momentarily, it proceeded ahead undeterred until it came to stand at the edge of the crater where its meal lay prone.

With a resigned grunt, the Lantean dropped his arm, his empty Beretta held in a loose grip at his side. He blinked resolutely at the creature looming over him.

"Go on then," he mumbled. "Go on. I'm not a coward anymore."

The Wraith scowled, leaning down.

But as it extended its hand toward the man's chest, it arched its back involuntarily, its face twisting into a pained grimace as a torrent of gunfire poured into it from behind.

The Lantean watched in amazement as the Wraith fell, half on top of his legs, face-down in the dirt.

It took a moment to register what had happened, and before he'd fully processed his gallows reprieve, Sheppard came into his line of sight, partly obscured by the blinding sun. He looked something like a saint.

"Rodney! God… are you okay?"

McKay couldn't find the strength to nod, but he smiled. His friend may have thought it was a grimace, though, because his worried frown deepened as he leaned down to grab him.

"Come on," he encouraged, his voice gravelly. "We have to get to the gate. Ronon and Teyla are waiting for us."

"'Course they are," the scientist murmured.

Sheppard pulled McKay's arm over his shoulder, supporting the vast majority of his weight as they stumbled out of the crater where the bloodied genius had been destined to die.

He should have known better. He really should have.

_Now the hardness of this world slowly grinds your dreams away  
makin' a fool's joke out of the promises we make  
And what once seemed black and white turns to so many shades of gray  
We lose ourselves in work to do, work to do and bills to pay  
And it's a ride, ride, ride, and there ain't much cover  
with no one runnin' by your side, my blood brother_

Sheppard looked out over the ocean, dimly aglow in the city's pale light. It didn't feel the same as before, though. It was a facsimile, an imitation. This wasn't the _real_ ocean; it was a second-rate substitute.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but it was long enough that he was late for dinner. As soon as he heard the doors open behind him, he knew who it was.

McKay joined him at the balcony railing.

"Hey, where've you been? I've been trying to get you on the radio for half an hour."

Sheppard smiled sheepishly.

"I think I misplaced it."

McKay glanced at where his earpiece should have been. Then he followed the soldier's eyes back out over the water, frowning.

"Wait, you threw it in the _ocean_?" he carped. "What's wrong with you?"

"Carter's been after me for my performance reviews. I haven't really been in the mood."

McKay nodded, watching him. After a moment of scrutiny, he finally shrugged.

"Can't say I blame you. It's a little hard for me to rate people's performances when I don't delegate any tasks to them."

When Sheppard didn't respond with a quip of some sort – in fact, he didn't respond at all – the scientist regarded him with mild concern. He hadn't noticed before, but there were gray circles under his eyes and lines on his forehead that didn't used to be there.

"Are you all right?"

Sheppard's head nodded of its own volition. It was an instinctive response, tripwired by any inquiry into his well-being. Usually, people had the good sense to leave it at that, but McKay was a unique individual.

"Yeah, _clearly_," the scientist replied. "That's why you're hunched over like an extra from 'Dawn of the Dead.'"

"Leave it alone, Rodney."

McKay rolled his eyes.

"Or what? You'll toss _me _in the ocean?"

Sheppard didn't respond immediately, except to sigh in annoyance. His friend had the profoundly obnoxious habit of finding him when his only goal was to sulk. Some things were best left to the darkness of a single brain.

He chose his words carefully.

"Like I told you before, I _really_ don't want to talk about it."

McKay's stomach churned as soon as the sentence was done. He knew immediately, and he should have recognized it earlier. It had only been four days, after all.

"I… look, you – I know how you feel. It wasn't my first choice either."

Sheppard watched the water ripple as a school of fish passed by. It still didn't look right. It might as well have been a desert.

"It's shit that it came to that, but it did. And I owe you big time," McKay said, looking away awkwardly. "More than I could say."

Sheppard shut his eyes, dipping his head and running an angry hand through his hair. No one taught you as a child that a choice could be right _and_ wrong; it was a lesson known to none but life's hangers-on.

"I didn't have a right to do it," he said quietly.

"She'd be dead if you didn't. Would that be better?"

"I'm not saying that."

"Then what _are_ you saying?"

"I gave him _to the Wraith_, Rodney!" Sheppard growled. "You tell me there's_ anything_ to justify that."

McKay swallowed bravely, not looking away.

"Bradley, Madison, and Robbie still have a mother. And you gave me back the only family I have left."

Sheppard's face was so tight.

"Maybe that doesn't justify it, John, but it… it means a hell of a lot to _me_."

A small breeze passed through, making the hairs on the soldier's exposed arms stand up. He looked back at the vast blue expanse down below. The fish were gone. Everything was still.

He would've done it all again.

_On through the houses of the dead, past those fallen in their tracks  
Always movin' ahead, and never lookin' back  
Now I don't know how I feel, I don't know how I feel tonight  
if I've fallen 'neath the wheel, if I've lost or I've gained sight  
I don't even know why, I don't know why I made this call  
or if any of this matters anymore after all_

Bitter, sweeping gusts scattered the dying leaves. It had always struck him funny the way people surrounded the plots with trees. They usually looked out of place. But now, Fall having refused the advance of Indian Summer, the plants were withering into skeletons, and something about that just felt right.

Any place like this was suitably eerie in evening's grasp, but there was something particularly unsettling about this singular locale. Maybe it was the way some of the etchings had been corroded by time's passage, or maybe it was simply the sheer volume of headstones, which spanned the scope of his vision in every direction, as if he were at the epicenter of a forgotten apocalypse.

When he found the one he was looking for, he had to fight the urge to keep walking. That wasn't anything new, though. It was the way it would always be.

He wiped his face with his coat sleeve.

"Hey… again," he said quietly, ironically. "I don't know why I bother coming, but I'm here. I guess I owe it to you, even if you're not really dead."

He looked down at his shoes, wondering when they'd gotten so dirty.

"You know, the funny thing is, everyone cried over you and said you were taken so young, but you're gonna outlive every one of us by fifty millennia. What the hell were we all crying about? You got off easy. A hell of a lot easier than me."

It felt good to be angry.

"Jennifer's dead. I found her and lost her, all in a breath. If there was a God, he'd have taken me before I was allowed to love her. She was the last thing I had left. And she was the only tie there was to any one of you."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. They felt arthritic in the cold.

"I don't have anything left to do but think now. It's strange the things I never knew before. I figured out that I loved Ronon. Can you believe that? He was always a little crude for my tastes, but I realized the other day that you owe it to anyone who'd die for you. I guess I love a lot of people… but they're not around to need it."

His torso felt cold where the coat was open, so he crossed his arms across his chest to pull it closed, his body wracked with terrible shivers. It felt like winter had already come.

"It doesn't matter, though," he declared. "None of this will be real for anyone but me. I'll be gone, forgotten probably, but somewhere I'll be happy too. I owe everyone that. I owe _you_ that. I owe you more than anyone's got to give."

All around him was stone and earth and that black nothing above. At his feet was an empty grave, and as much as he tried to picture bones and skin and dust, he suffered through the failures of a tired imagination.

He felt his eyes get wet, and he told himself it was the wind. He'd tell himself a lot of things before his journey was done.

And on or preceding that far-off day when he'd suck his last breath, he'd usurp with satisfaction the cruel, hard will of chance.

_But the stars are burnin' bright, like some mystery uncovered_  
_and I'll keep movin' through the dark with you in my heart_  
_my blood brother_

McKay smiled.

"God, it's good to see you again."


End file.
